David Dalglish - A Dance Of Death

“Enough!”

Alyssa stepped between Haern and Laryssa.

“I will not apologize for him,” she said, and Haern was proud of how tall and regal she appeared before the elven princess. “For he speaks my mind. But I know the lives at stake, and I know what Zusa would choose. I will go, and I do so in hopes you will find a way to peace. I do so in hopes that thousands of others will be saved. But consider me friend and ally no more.”

The ambassador stepped beside Laryssa and began speaking in elvish, but several others behind him shouted him down. Laryssa shook her head, and the sadness in her eyes only fueled Haern’s anger.

“Go,” she said. “Be safe, Lady Gemcroft. It saddens my heart knowing this is the fate all agreements between our races must one day reach.”

“Your choice,” Alyssa said, shaking her head, before turning to Haern. “Can you carry her?”

Haern scooped Zusa into his arms, shifting as much of her weight onto his good shoulder as he could. The pain was intense. Well, he thought, at least all those years of training under his father’s tutors would be good for something. Locking the pain into a distant corner of his mind, he forced himself to not feel it. Just an ache, he thought. Just a dull ache.

“I can walk,” Zusa murmured.

“Sure you can,” Haern said, chuckling. “But you won’t.”

They left the house under the cold stares of the elves. Alyssa glanced back once when they exited, as if she expected someone to follow after them, but no one came. Suddenly thrust back onto the streets, Haern felt exposed, and it seemed every pair of eyes watched him as the people passed. It wasn’t true, not entirely, but he was used to hiding in shadows and traveling by night. At least they wore simple clothing. As long as they could avoid guards, they might have a chance.

“Well,” he said as Zusa wrapped her arms about his neck and shifted so he’d be more comfortable. “Where do we go?”

Alyssa looked down either direction of the street, then sighed.

“I haven’t the faintest clue, Haern. I wish I were home.”

So did he. He’d give anything to have the rest of the Eschaton mercenaries there. Tarlak would have whipped up a few fireballs to convince the elves of their foolishness. Brug would have done a fine job ranting and raving, and of course Delysia would slide in right after, ready to speak a kind word to defuse…

He blinked.

“I have an idea,” he said. “It’s desperate, but it might serve for a few days until we figure something out.”

“Lead us, then,” she said. “I trust you.”

“Let’s hope I’m worthy of it.”

When they’d first toured the city under the guise of newlyweds, he and Zusa had memorized the location of various places, generally the markets, the docks, and where the Merchant Lords lived. There was one building he’d noticed, not because of its grand size, but because of how diminutive it’d been. The only problem was that they’d have to pass through one of the gates further toward the docks, which meant a cursory examination by the guards.

“When we’re questioned, just speak the truth,” he told her as they walked. “Our friend is sick, and we’re seeking help.”

“Are you certain?”

“Stop worrying,” Zusa said, opening a sleepy eye. “You’re braver than this.”

Alyssa flushed, then quickened her step to keep pace with Haern.

They arrived at the heavy gates, two guards overlooking those passing by. Every now and then they’d turn someone away, usually if they were too poor to afford the bribe. They had let him through with hardly a glance when he’d been in his fine, borrowed clothing. Nobles could stand their ground without fear. The rest, though…

“Hold on up,” said the heavier of the two guards as they tried to pass through. “What’s wrong with her?”

“Sick with fever,” Haern said, refusing to meet the guard’s eye for long. He didn’t want to seem memorable in any way.

“Fever?” said the other guard, wandering over. “We don’t need any sort of plague getting near the docks. How bad?”

“She’ll die soon,” Alyssa said, stepping up.

“You his husband, miss?”

“Yes,” Alyssa said without missing a beat. “Please, she’s our friend.”

She reached into her pocket and withdrew a handful of coins. Haern inwardly winced, and wasn’t surprised when the guards narrowed their eyes. Every coin was gold, and freshly minted. No one garbed as they were could possess such wealth.

“Please,” she said, offering three coins to each. “We are in a great hurry.”

The second took the gold, but the heavier one scratched at his chin. Haern felt his eyes analyzing him, and he tensed, waiting for that moment of recognition. The guard leaned toward the other and whispered something.

“Don’t be daft,” said the other. “That ain’t him.”

“But how could you know?”

“Course I know.” The second guard stared Haern straight in the eye. “He saved my life. How would I forget that face?”

The heavier guard shrugged and pocketed his share of the coin.

“Much appreciate the kindness,” he said. “Hard work keeping these streets safe.”

“I can imagine,” Haern said.

The three continued on, then hooked a right.

“Next time, a handful of coppers will suffice,” Haern said when they were out of earshot.

Alyssa blushed.

“The least I have is a few silvers…”

Haern rolled his eyes.

“Forget it. You could never pass as a commoner, anyway. You don’t have the slouch.”

Alyssa started to protest, but saw Zusa smiling amid her pain. She blushed and kept her mouth shut. They traveled down the street until Haern at last stopped them before their destination.

“A temple?” Alyssa asked.

“They may give us sanctuary,” Haern said. “And at the least, they might be able to help Zusa. She’s what is most important right now.”

“Of course,” Alyssa said, sounding ashamed. “I should have thought of this sooner.”

They approached the entrance, a single door lacking any decorations. The outside was plain, half the size of Ashhur’s temple in Veldaren. The walls were wood instead of stone. Haern wondered if Karak’s temple held far greater sway and attendance, or if the people of Angelport simply had no time for gods. Neither thought was comforting. A bronze knocker was nailed to the center of the door, and Alyssa rapped it twice. Within moments the door cracked open, and a young man of twelve or thirteen greeted them.

“May I help you?” he asked with practiced politeness.

“We seek succor,” Haern said, tilting his head toward Zusa. “And our friend is in need of healing.”

“One moment.”

The door shut, and they heard a lock click from the other side. Haern began a new litany in his head, denouncing the pain he felt. Something warm trickled down his arm, and he knew the wound was bleeding through the bandage. Not much longer, he thought. He just had to hang on a little while longer. A minute later, the door swung wide, and the young man beckoned them in.

“I’m sorry for the wait. Please, follow me.”

They entered immediately into the altar room, where benches of mismatched wood were lined before a single stepped dais. Their host pointed to one of the benches.

“Lay her down there.”

“Sure thing, uh….”

“Oh,” the young man seemed to snap out of his routine for a brief moment. “Logan. Sorry.”

Haern noticed he’d kept something hidden from them in his arms, first at his chest when he led them in, and now at his back. Setting Zusa down, he took a quick glance when their host wasn’t looking. It looked like a weapon of some sort, a metal club, perhaps.